You're My Favorite Murder (Chapter 15)

Chapter 15: 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘺

My hand instinctively reaches into the opposite pocket, hunting for my vape before a white-hot dread surge through me as I remember I quit a few months ago. Though with the way things are panning out for me right now, I could do well with a hit or two, probably more.

"When a certain irritating cunt fucked me over," gritting my teeth, his words swimming painfully in my ear I let my head fall, hands covering my face as a burning stream of tears cascades down. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve fucked up, seeing him, I just fall apart. Everything’s a mess.

“Can I get you anything else hon” Marge mutters sweetly, my hands making quick work, wiping away the tears though I’m left red and puffy around the eyes.

“Uh, no, no just the uh check please” I smile through the sorrow, the agony, the unresolved, unspoken words between the pair of us fucked up individuals.

Hurrying over to my side, she wraps me up in a side bear hug, one I’m all too grateful for. “You okay, doll?”

Sniffling through a nod I quietly murmur, “just tired. Been studying past couple nights, haven’t gotten a lot of sleep so my emotions are all out of whack.” Rubbing my hands down my arms, trying to comfort myself as she steps back reluctantly.

“Tell you what, I’ve got just the thing that will guarantee you get a great night’s sleep. Stay put and I’ll be back in a bit.”

Flashing a hollow smile, she walks off with Jermey’s bitterly cold brew, striding through the flapper doors behind the counter back towards the kitchen as I spare a glance out the blurred windows. His dark shadow pacing back and forth beneath the lamppost’s light, large puffs of smoke and the glow of his lit cigarette my only indication where he stands outside.

Huffing a sigh, I tug out my burner deciding to turn to the one person I know I’ll regret asking for help from. Pulling up the contact labeled BEST FRIEND I roll my eyes huffing out another sigh, annoyed with myself that this is what it’s come to before typing out a text. Glancing to the time, 3:13 a.m. I’m half hoping she’s not up just one less nuisance to deal with so early in the morning.

Me: hey girl, lmk u got home safe :)

these murders got me worried now

Three bubbles flash before her message pops up, damn it! I can just hear the overbearing whine of enthusiasm in her words and we’re miles away from each other. Christ!

Her: yes, yes all good girly <3

ikr, its fuckin crazy

u heard bout the latest one???

Deciding the only way, she’s going to spill her guts without throwing suspicion my way is if I act none the wiser, I feign confusion mixed with a hint of overdramatized worry. At least I hope that’s how it comes across; with text you never know. Even if I’m just playing the part of the best friend, I still need to play it well enough to be believed.

Me: wait, there’s been another?!?!

The bubbles don’t blink any faster than they’re programmed to but they’re lighting up and going dead more times than I care to count, if I were that is.

Finally, she responds, but with a barrage of articles instead, like I hoped originally, all saying the same things I already knew, nothing new learned.

Rolling my eyes for a third time, everything about her just annoying me I pull up my keyboard to respond when a new text alert comes in over top of my screen.

Flitting my gaze, I notice the name unknown at the top, so at first I ignore it, some meaningless message sent to me I don’t bother regarding. Then further messages, labeled images attached from the same number come in. Curiosity getting the better of me, opening the text thread, I see the pictures stacked over top, at least ten pictures of what look like crime scenes.

Pulling up the first, I see the same alley way, the same pink cardigan, short, up-the-ass white pleated skirt wearing dead body. Only unlike last time I was there, Sidney I think was the cunt’s name, she’s missing her head. The head I viciously cut her bitchy tongue out of. Why take the head? The thought doesn’t settle well, as I start searching the photo for the mound of flesh I removed. Only it’s not there either. So, they took the head and the tongue, why?

“Hang on” I whisper to myself, putting the phone back, taking a metaphorical step back, suddenly worrying too fast over probably nothing. “This is fake.” I scoff at the pathetic attempt to frighten me. Swiping through the photos I hardly take a second glance, each just someone’s idea of a joke. It’s probably a university-wide prank.

I’m just about to pop out of the text thread, deleting the messages when the unknown number sends me something else. Video attached pops up. I squint at the newest notification, hesitant to take any of this seriously but once more that inquisitive feeling has me playing the video.

A shaky camera view, as if this were a home movie, wobbles, the crunch of gravel beneath the boots of the person filming as they walk into a warehouse. Gripping the phone tighter, I lean in, the quality more than shitty. Slowly the camera pans down a wall covered in blood, spatter of all patterns lining the metal, still freshly oozing. The location is unfamiliar to me, so I keep my eyes laser focused on the video.

Sluggishly the camera pans over to a—

“Here hon, this’ll have you out like a light, catch up on all that sleep.” Slamming the phone down, tearing my eyes away fast as I can I notice Marge standing with a to-go cup and the check. “And here’s the check.” Placing both on the table she flashes a wink, and I can’t help smiling, despite the uneasiness I now feel. She really feels like the mother I never had.

“Thanks Marge, can I get a box for my food and shake too?” I slide the phone closer to the window.

“Of course, just give me a sec.”

“Thanks” I light up my face with the façade, taking a glance to where my phone sits on the table beneath my hand, turned over to prevent my secrets from spilling out into the world. If only it were that easy.

Just as she said, she saunters back with a box, bag and a second to-go for the melted soup of a forgotten shake. “Take your time, we’re open all night so no rush.”

Grateful once more for her generosity and caring nature I smile as if to say thank you as she walks off, and right on cue for my fucking dickhead of a nemesis to re-enter. I honestly had forgotten all about his existence for a moment. One blissful moment; but all good things must come to an end as they often say.

Still moody as fuck but visibly a bit less on edge he slouches back in the seat, jacket still pulled on, the cold of the night emanating from him making me shiver once more. “What the fuck is this” he mutters holding up the to-go mug with whatever beverage Marge made to help with my sleep.

Knowing how revenge is always a dish best served ice cold, I smirk laying out a plan in my head.

“I got you a to-go for your coffee.” Sickly sweet, fluttering my lashes with a growing smile he glares me down, my out of left-field cheery attitude further souring his broody, grumpy one.

“You had her get me a to-go for my cold, stale, coffee?” Emphasizing each word as if I wasn’t already aware of what once filled his mug.

Overdramatizing my annoyance just a hair I shake my head, “I’m not that much of a bitch. I had her make you a fresh pot asshole.” Leaning closer with a whisper, I slip my phone back into my pocket, my proximity the perfect distraction. I’ll look at it later. “You could say thank you, ya know. It won’t kill you to be grateful when someone does something nice for you, occasionally. I mean for fucks sake, with your broody-ass attitude I’m surprised anyone even has the nerve to talk to you.”

Something dangerously dark falls across his face, his thumb sliding along his pierced bottom lip, grey stormy gaze locked on my big brown eyes, before whispering, voice husky and dripping with lust. “They aren’t interested in talking to me Staz, it’s the things I do with my lips, my tongue, my dick” he lets that hang in the air for a beat, “that draws people in.” Leaning closer, properly amused that he’s managed to get under my skin, if only a little he lays it on thicker, every word dripping in sinful sex. “Or have you forgotten, how I tasted you, felt you quake beneath me. The clench of your cunt, keeping me deep inside. We had no interest in talking then, did we?”

I swallow a few times, trying to distract myself from how wet I feel myself getting by bringing up the past. A past forgotten, forbidden to remember, yet remains rooted deep within me despite how agonising the memories.

“I forget nothing” I flash a hint of longing in my gaze, one he catches as his brows raise, curious yet cautious. The path down this road a dangerous one to return to.

“I thought not” he mutters, looking off into the distance, a twinge of hurt in his voice. Grinding his teeth, defining his jaw further I mentally punch myself for this unwarranted feeling of dread.

Shaking the daze of whatever it was that just passed between us in the booth, the air tense I go to pick up the cup, projecting my anger and confusion into the arbitrary moment. “Fine, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

Just as I hoped, having flipped the switch to annoying fucker back on, he tears the mug from my grasp taking a great gulp before letting out a satisfied sigh. “This changes nothing between us.”

Biting back a smile I shake my head with an eye roll, feeling the buzz of my phone from my back jean pocket making my heart race. “Whatever dickhead, are we finally done here? I want to try to get a least a few hours of sleep before I’m forced to rejoin the world.”

Shrugging nonchalant, the mild hostility somewhat gone he picks up the plate holding my dinner, turning it over into the box and shoving it towards my side of the table. “We’re even” he remarks dryly before stepping out of the booth into the early morning chill.

“Thanks Marge, goodnight” I say stepping out, as she waves me off with that signatural sweet smile of hers, a crumpled twenty and ten sitting over the receipt, more than enough of tip, some of the shit she must have heard from our booth.

Swinging my bag of leftovers in my left hand, the shake in my right I hurry along back to my dorm, my tall and brooding shadow nowhere to be seen. The wind chill whips harshly across my face as I push through, fighting the cold, forcing shivers out of me. “Jesus it’s cold” I mutter, teeth chattering.

Not a moment too soon I arrive back, hands permanently locked in a gripping position as I ascend the stairs to the fourth floor, each step dragging another ounce of energy out of me. At this rate I’ll end up conked out in the stairwell.

Trudging along, pushing away the ache in my everywhere and the chill in everywhere else I step up the final step, my door slightly ajar. In no mood for this I shove the shake in my left armpit as my free hand tugs out my blade, the extension of myself sitting comfortably in my hand.

Charging through, kicking the door fully open my eyes scan the room for his presence. Sneaky fucker is playing fucking hide and seek with me right now. It is too damn early for this shit!

Slamming the door shut behind me I toss the remnants of my meal into my mini fridge before storming into the bedroom, my roommate’s door slightly ajar. Kicking myself, thinking it was either that dickhead I just had a late dinner with or that other asshole who’s deciding to step on my turf I think nothing more of it. Sitting on my bed, gradually removing my shoes, flexing my frozen toes I hear snores emanating from the other room.

“Since when does Wes snore?” Slowly, creeping into the other room, Swiss blade still gripped in my hand I give the door a light tap, pushing it open just a tad further. And low and behold, there is my Stalker Boy, passed the fuck out leaning on my roommate’s bed. I can’t help but laugh, seeing his position, as if he just let gravity take hold and his face met with only half the bed, the rest of him kneeling on the hardwood.

Striding up close, knowing the brooding figure to no longer be a danger to me or anyone else, I slap his face a few times, hard enough, ensuring he’s out cold. Biting my lip muttering a quick and mocking “sweet dreams” to the dozed off yet alluring jerk. I shake my head, stepping away, distancing myself from the sensual man even sleeping, his face as hard and irresistible, maybe more so, when asleep.

Taking my burner out, wanting to remember this forever I go to open the camera before glancing at the frozen video still plastered across my screen. Sure, he’s not about to move, I return to my bedroom, closing and locking the adjoining door. Getting comfortable I sit up on the bed, back to the wall as I start the video from the beginning.

Just as before, the shaky image, the sound of gravel, a blood-spattered wall. My eyes stay glued to the screen as it pans over slowly, revealing a bound girl, a cut on her cheek, eyes covered with a blindfold, lips open in screams as she starts getting beaten with a bat.

Each time, it comes down, creating bruising in her pale skin, a shrill scream escaping, forever trapped within the walls. She writhers on the concrete floor, unable to move away from her assailant as they continue pounding into her. Over and over, the bat meets flesh, the bruises soon becoming broken and bloodied limbs, blood spraying out with each swing. I feel bad for the brunette, if it were me dulling out the pain at least it would have been a lot quicker than what this sicker fuck decided.

For a moment the beatings stop, her lips quivering as she cries and screams, almost every visible limb broken or mangled in some way. Dropping the bat to the side, the camera comes closer to the girl’s face, tearing the cloth blindfold from her eyes. Squinting at the camera, the light somewhat blinding, she blubbers and pleads. But even I know there’s no escaping her death.

Still the stuttered word “bpl..bpll…pleeeassee” manages past her lips, a bit of drool seeping from the corners, her face twisted with a permanent frown. A brown leather gloved hand caresses the side of her face, tipping her chin up to face the person hiding behind the camera. Before the girl can see it coming, the gloved kidnapper backhands her across the face, sending her back to lie lifeless on the floor.

Picking up the bat, using the toe of their black boots, they nudge her body over, keeping the shaky camera angle on her as they beat her senselessly in the face. Unable to do more than roll an inch to the left or right the bat lands hard and true, screwing up each of her facial features.

It goes that way for a good ten minutes or so, the killer getting off on her mutilation. Landing a final blow, some of her shattered teeth stuck in the place that once held her eyes they toss the bloodied weapon out of focus before ending the video.

Exiting the window, scrolling down to the most recent messages I nearly throw the phone across the room.

Unknown: one less victim you get to kill

Unknown: try to turn me in and I’ll expose your ass, don’t fuck with me Red Lips

Ever since the press printed that stupid-ass nickname in the papers I’ve been pissed, mostly because it means I can’t leave my signature, or they’ll make the connection to all my murders. So, for this mysterious fucker to use it and to have killed one of my potential victims, more than enrages me!

Utterly pissed off, this entire evening taking one worse turn after another I slam the phone on the bed, trudging back over to my roommate’s room. There he lay, halfway off the bed, snoring loud and passed the fuck out. I can feel the heat of my rage, hands balling into fists at my side as I pace, back and forth I go, thinking back to what I just saw, then to the annoyance on the bed. I need to relieve some of this tension.

Storming back out I strip down naked and make my way into the bathroom, turning the shower on. Water pours from the head, filling the space with the sound of a calm shhhh. Stepping in I turn the temperature hotter, the heat of my anger numbing me to the burn. Letting my head fall back, eyes shut I stand there in the moment sliding my finger under the place of my right tit, there tattooed in cursive words spelling out his spoken words, inked forever on my skin. The pain was excruciating but I thrived on it, knowing, a needle has fully rooted a piece of him inside me. What delicious torture.

Slinking my fingertips down further, his tantalizing words in the diner letting past feelings resurface if only for a moment, now I let them consume me, surround me, destroy me from the inside. I don’t care, my body will always know who it belongs to even if my words deny it.

***

A Couple Months Ago

I found myself tied to the bed, wrists bound to each bedpost in rope, his sadistic side loving to see the red rope burns along my wrists the morning after. Knowing what we did, what he did to my body. I lay there, waiting, squirming beneath his devilish stare, stormy grey eyes taking in my very bare and naked skin.

Words weren’t necessary, this being a simple hate fuck, getting each other out of systems for good. But the lie could only last so long. Seeing as this was our third time meeting up to “hate fuck” each other. But I craved his body, his fingers, his hands, his lips, his tongue. Every inch of me arched beneath his touch, bowed to his command.

He crawled up my body, skating his lips along the skin making me shiver, but there was no escape. Dragging along, the cool touch of his piercing moving up my body I let my eyes close, his sensuous touch making me dizzy and he hadn’t even really touched me properly, yet.

Choking my throat tight, my eyes shot open, staring up into his, the darkness of his murderous expression something to get drunk off of. He could kill me, right there and I would have screamed his name in agonising ecstasy. But he didn’t, letting off just so on the pressure he grip my jaw, forcing my lips open. Extending my tongue I happily accepted the dribble of spit he gave, swallowing it down before he smacked me across the face, back and forth, cheeks red with welts.

“I knew you were a dirty fucking slut” he growled, leaning my head up as he knelt before me, shoving his thick girth past my lips. Ever the masochist I let him have his way as he fucked my mouth, thrusting hard, deeper, forcing me to take all of him at once. Not giving me a moment to adapt to his size or the pace, using me like his personal cum slut.

***

All too quickly I feel my orgasm on the rise, arousal dripping down my legs, hands clawing at the slick walls trying to grip something. Suddenly, the two sharp manicured fingers, plunging deep inside my cunt, slide so deep and fast I scream his name, his real name.

The minute I feel myself coming down off my high I realise my mistake but don’t care, seeing as he deserved it and no one will ever know our dark and dirty little secrets.

Still soaking wet, I walk back to my roommate’s room, dragging sleepyhead into the bathroom with me, noting the streak of water I’ll need to clean up in a minute. Shutting the door behind us, water still pouring from the head I haul him ungracefully into the shower, leaning against the tiles. Looking at his sleeping form, I hold back another laugh, the situation just too good to pass up.

Leaning over the side, I swipe one of the razors from my shower supplies, some shaving foam and a pair of handcuffs. Because yes, for just such an occasion I have handcuffs in my bathroom. Locking up his left wrist in the cuff, I drag his ass over to the shower head, securing the other cuff around the pipe. Resting a leg on his knee, I make quick work of the razor, shaving off the tiniest hairs along my legs all the way up.

Reaching my bikini line, I drag the blade slowly across the much more delicate skin, taking care to be gentle with myself. Sliding my hand across the skin ensuring I didn’t miss anywhere, I relish in the feel of smooth as silk skin before remembering why I dragged sleepy stalker in here.

Shutting off the water, the floor dry enough not to slip on, I kneel before him, the only time I do so willingly. Taking the same two fingers, I fucked my cunt with, I place them in his mouth, his tongue and lips knowing what to do even if half asleep. Getting them all wet, I plunge them back in my pussy, gathering my wet arousal on the digits. Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, I wipe the mix of internal juices along my lips, coating them in glistening red.

Bent down on all fours, knees screaming in protest as the hard surface grinds painfully against my kneecaps I crawl forward, laying a light kiss on his lips, coating them in all of me. Drawing back I smile, the red of my blood painting his red. Rolling my eyes, understanding the reason behind the stupid press nickname I feel content to once again see my beautiful signature on one of my victims of sorts.

Still, he lays in the shower, asleep, now red with the blood of his enemy. Dragging a finger along the line of his jaw, light scruff scraping against the skin I leave him there as I handle the wet streak of the floor and straighten up Wessa’s room. Even if she doesn’t stumble in for another hour or so, I don’t need her thinking I was snooping, not that I was.

Satisfied I shut the door to the bathroom, turning off the light and hopping into bed, as is, naked. Maybe the morning hasn’t been such a let down after all.

Darkside: —4 Stalker Boy: —1

He’s gotta lose a few points for letting himself get drugged, don’t you think?